If
by Generation Extant
Summary: The Doctor and Javis travel to the New Roman Empire to butt heads with an indolent child emperor. (This story was originally published from June 28-July 23, 2007 at Generation Extant dot com.)


The TARDIS motors hummed rhythmically as the craft sped through the time vortex. Inside the ship, down one of its labrynthine corridors, sat Javis Nine and the Doctor, locked in a curious battle of wits. They were clearly playing a game of chess, but each move came with a question. Javis had been raised on the streets, she had always fought for her well-being. The Doctor saw more in her, and had taken her on as an intellectual protege of sorts, making it his duty to culture the rough and tumble New Earth boxing champion. In return, Javis was quizzing Doctor in more…practical matters.  
A white pawn moved forward.  
"What do you do if a lady walks by with a stupid hairstyle?"  
"Sonic Screwdriver?"  
"Don't be cute."  
"Well, Javis, I can't rightly say nothing…can I?"  
"…take the pawn back."  
The Doctor huffed, half indignant, half playfully. He waited for Javis to move her bishop.  
"Tears, Idle Tears, I know not what they mean…"  
"Erm…Shakespeare?"  
The Doctor cocked a half-smile.  
"Hardly. Now take back your bishop, you blaggard!"  
"Ass."  
"Phillistine."  
"Steady on, now, I'm not quite the babarian you think!"  
"Oh?"  
"I saw a play once."  
"Oh really?" The Doctor leaned forward, head on hands.  
"Yeah…The Importance of Being Earnest."  
"Oh! Wilde! Oscar was a fine man, pity how he ended up, really…did you like it?"  
"It was silly enough, I suppose, so I laughed a bit…but I'm glad no one took it seriouly."  
"How so?"  
"Well, it's all so daft, really…rich people worried about such stupid little things: social standing, names, who they love, cucumber sandwiches…it was all so silly and I'm glad they made it silly. Being an urchin like myself, I think I would have been sort of insulting if they did it straight up…you know?"  
"Indeed, Javis. Never underestimate the power of laughter to point out social injustice. Is it my move?" he reached for a knight piece.  
"Why did you shave the beard?"  
The knight stopped mid-motion.  
"I beg your pardon?" The Doctor asked.  
"You shaved the beard. You're down to a goatee now."  
"I got tired of everyone post-1996 Earth calling me 'Silent Bob,' whoever the devil that was."  
"What are you doing?"  
"You asked a question. I answered. I move."  
"Ohhhh, you!"  
"quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"  
"Oh come on! We haven't gotten to Latin yet, we're still on Greek!"  
"Regardless, put down your bishop."  
He picked up a cup of tea.  
"It's from Juvenal's Satire VI: "who watches the watchmen?" Fantastic line, very…inspiring. Just a testament to the wisdom of Rome!"  
"Wherever the hell that is…"  
The teacup clattered to the floor.  
"You…you don't know Rome?"  
"Should I?"  
"Should you? Should you?! It's one of the greatest empires of all time, and possible the greatest human empire in existence! The art, the thought, the writing…the wine! Oh, we simply must see it!"  
And with that, he flew out of the study-like antechamber. Javis sat back, drinking her tea and formulating a whacking great quiz for the Doctor's next move. In shorter time than she expected, the Doctor blustered back into the room, all a-flutter, overcoat and hat in tow.  
"There we are! Four little letters, R-O-M-E, and we're on our way! Now, where's my rook…?"  
"Ah, ah ah, Doctor…" Javis grinned, "question first."  
"Oh, very well," the Doctor sighed.  
"Who's Silent Bob?"  
Meanwhile, the TARDIS touched down in a marble-columned corridor, neatly tucked into an arched escarpment off the main walkway. A dark-skinned man gave a shout as he nearly collided with the suddenly appearing blue box. His intent was to hide off to the side behind one of the rich, red tapestries, but his shout had now sealed his fate. In a trice he was set upon by four heavily-armored guards, all sporting tall, crested helmets and breastplates matched to thick armored skirts. Wrapped sandals slapped upon the floor as the guards retreated with the man in tow. Growling like a beast, the dark-skinned man tore himself free of the guards and continued down the hallway. He had gotten back near the TARDIS when one of the guards, every inch a Roman soldier, suddenly produced a laser pistol and shot the man down. Writhing in his death throes, the man fell to the marble, wailing. A smal parcel, which he had been guarding so dearly, spilled out of his hands, revealing two oranges and a loaf of bread. The soldier who had pulled the pistol kicked the body disgracefully.  
"Savage. Terrorist. Pick it up and dispose."  
The three other soldiers lifted the emaciated body, an easy task for their muscular bodies, and proceded to heave the dead man out of the nearest window, landing with a sickening thud. At that moment, the Doctor decided to pop his head out from the TARDIS door, cap on head and jacket over arm.  
"Ah, merry old Rome! Haven't been here in years! And…"  
He found himself looking down the barrel of four laser pistols. The Doctor lifted his eyes skyward and chuckled.  
"Why do I always pick the worst possible moment?"  
"You there! You are hereby under arrest under the–"  
"Let me guess, I'm under arrest by your emperor for unlawful presence on some sort of place I'm not supposed to be. Your next step will be to either a) imprison me b) execute me or c) take me before either a) your emperor b) the local magistrate or c) the senate in order to decide my a) fate, b) sentence, or c)…"  
"SILENCE!" The soldier bellowed, thrusting the gun nearly into the Doctor's nose. Stil halfway in the doorway, the Doctor was able to motion to Javis inside to stay put and shut the door. To his great relief, Javis complied. Maybe he is getting through to her, a few weeks ago she would have punched two of them silly before the third and fourth shot her, hmmm…  
"Come with me, terrorist." The guard snarled.  
"Excuse me?"  
"The fifteenth proclamation of Antiochus, the Emperor of New Rome, states that any person hitherto not abiding by physical and social archetypes laid down by he Antiochus can be branded an enemy of the state and be taken into immediate custody to await judgement."  
"Oh, of all the stupid, boll…NEW Rome? Antiochus? What year is this?"  
He was answered with a pistol butt to the top of his head as he was being dragged away.  
"Don't think feigning insanity will help you, even with those ridiculous clothes. It's the year 12,347 Anno Domini, and you will not see the next!"  
"Oh I highly doubt that claim, sir," The Doctor mused, attempting to rub his head but both of his arms were being used as carrying handles, "wait…12,347? That means Cramnomus has died unexpectedly of the ancient Malaria, and his son has taken over…you're taking me to see."  
One of the guards informed the Doctor of his true title, "Emperor Antiochus, without peer and divine, lord of New Rome and all its peoples."  
"Antiochus," The Doctor whispered, "The Child Emperor of New Rome…"

Javis had no idea where she was, but she knew she was now alone.  
The Doctor had told her to stay there, but what did he expect? Her to sit and make tea in this box while he was dragged away to be questioned? Hmph, if it's anything like the experience with the Karronian, the Doctor'll need her hand (or is it hands?) when it comes to…percussive situations. Rolling up her sleeves, Javis marched out of the TARDIS doors and straight into a middle-aged man in a toga walking down the corridor. The reams of parchment he was carrying flew into the air and scattered like dry leaves on the floor.  
"Busy hallway," Javis mumbled as she rubbed her head. The man helped her off the floor, looking her up and down quizzically.  
"I do apologize, Miss, but what kind of lady leaps out of cabinets into the hallway of a palace, all the while dressed so…strangely?"  
"Palace? We're in a palace?"  
The man gathered his parchments quickly, "Perhaps it is not just your clothing that is strange…but you fit to the law. Come, we will find you proper clothing."  
Javis looked at the suit she had on. "I don't see a problem with…"  
The man shooed her on with anxious haste, "Come, come! We must be on our way!"  
Reluctantly, Javis allowed herself to be lead around the corner. Directly afterwards, two guards appeared on patrol.  
"What are you in such a hurry for?" Javis asked as the man's sandaled feet hurried across the marble.  
"It's not me that needs to hurry, it's you," the man said, ushering her through a bit of drapery into an antechamber. Opening a wooden door into a small living quarter, the man bade her sit down. The walls and floors were marble like the rest of the building, but the furniture and other amenities had a much more practical, less ornamental feel to them.  
"Your clothes are completely illegal, you see," he said, putting down his parchment. He picked up a clay pitcher with two matching beakers. Pouring a deep, red wine into both, he offered Javis one. She accepted, but only out of the politeness the Doctor had told her about. She wasn't particularly thirsty at present.  
"How can clothes be illegal?" She asked, taking a seat on a simple cushioned bench.  
"My my…" the man chuckled, taking a sip, "you're not from here, are you?"  
"Erm, no," Javis fumbled with an embarrassed laugh. What does she say? Who would believe her? Thankfully, the man took away her anxiety by retreating to the previous topic.  
"You certainly look like one of us," the man marveled, "are you a barbarian child, from across the Atlantic?"  
Javis froze. The Doctor had not equipped her for such situations. As much as New Earth had attempted to be like Old Earth, she was finding herself quite out of her element.  
"Oh, but where are my manners? You must be speechless at my callousness. My name is Credo, I am a scribe of the Emperor. And you are?"  
"Javis Nine," she responded without really thinking, "of New Earth."  
"New… Earth?" Credo paused, looking utterly confused. Javis knew she was found out but, once again, the man kept on talking.  
"Ah! The West! Is that what they're calling it then? New Earth? Mind you, they ought to, after they destroyed it so thoroughly…you're from the West then? Must be an ancestor. Fascinating, I was not aware they had become civilized as of yet. Where on 'New Earth' do you call home?"  
Javis gave a bit of a shrug. She decided to run with it. "New New York."  
Credo virtually giggled at that. "New New York! Oh how simple, how lovely! Everything must be new there, how quaint! And yet, who am I to talk while we are standing at the center of New Rome!"  
"NEW Rome?" Javis asked. The Doctor had said nothing about a "New" Rome.  
"Oh yes, of course, this must seem so strange to one coming from a barbarous land."  
He drew back one of the many draperies to reveal an open window, offering a breathtaking view of the city. All over were gigantic structures made of stone, with broad, paved streets circulating out from the center palace in all directions. The city fairly sang with life, as the occasional air car would zoom by or a merchant would hawk his wares in the street. Overall it made for a curious combination of the world Javis knew, or at least a highly remedial version thereof, and a world she had never seen, one of stone and ancient airs.  
"This, Javis Nine, is New Rome. The most Neo-Classical regime humankind has ever known. We have taken everything from our predecessors, the great Romans of old, and built a new Empire in their honour. We emulate them in every way we can, only making concessions to keep us strong, and to defend us from our enemies, the heathen Asiatic League."  
Credo inhaled deeply, his olive skin shimmering in the sun.  
"Our Empire rose from the ashes of World War IV, which my father fought in, died in to give me this glorious life. Our power stretches from Caledonia in the North to the Cape of Agul in the South. We were the world's last hope for culture, for civilization, for life above barbarism when the West burned, and the East fell to chaos. We are the sole guardians, the mediators, the observers. We keep the world together…I suppose you could call us doctors."  
"I wouldn't quite say that," Javis scoffed. Credo had seemed initially genial, but his nationalistic bravado had proved off-putting. She returned to the bench, and took a long pull of wine. "Any place that'll jail you for wearing the wrong clothes ain't all that perfect, yeah?"  
Credo's brow furrowed into a frown.  
"You may look like us, but you certainly don't have our sensibilities," he put down his beaker, "New Rome is under constant threat from spies and terrorists. For our own safety no one is allowed anywhere near the palace unless they fit three requirements: clothes, color, and loyalty."  
"Excuse me, color? That's not what I think…"  
"Many of the high-ranking priests of New Rome had their skin dyed as a show of loyalty to the Emperor, and our African magistrates have gone through a process of…bleaching…."  
"You can't be serious! This is ridiculous!"  
"This is war, Javis!" Credo snarled, "This is the same war that killed my father, just being perpetuated in the shadows rather than on battlefields! For his honour, we can't fail. We can't let the terrorists win! We have to take any and all measures necessary to keep ourselves safe, for the good of all! My wife and daughter both refused to pledge loyalty, and died as concubines for senators in Hibernia for their troubles, but it had to be done for the greater good!"  
"It's unbelievable! It's inhuman!"  
"The war was human, Javis," Credo said softly, his head bowed, "wars are human, mass extinctions are human. Even our glorious ancestors in Old Rome made human mistakes that lead to their downfall. Perhaps it is time for humanity to move on or be left behind."  
"That's terrible." Javis said, brushing away hot tears.  
"You think I don't know that?" Credo said, turning to her and brushing away a few of his own, "come, let's get you into proper clothes."  
"Credo, I don't think I can do that." She made to run, but halted herself first. Polite, like the Doctor said.  
"Thank you for the wine and the stories, but I must be excused."  
And with that, she bolted out of the door before Credo could say anything. Without a word, he sat down at his table, and began reorganizing his papers. She would get caught, he knew she would. If she didn't swear loyalty, she'd be killed…no, she's too pretty for that…she'll be a slave to officials. Maybe even to the Emperor himself. Thinking of his wife and daughter, who had suffered the same fate, Credo took up his quill went back to work. Put them away, old man, he said to himself…put them away and protect the world, one scrap of parchment at a time.

It didn't take very long for Javis to get caught. She was actually impressed at how stringent the security was. She'd broken into some pretty heavily guarded places to stage fights in the basement…but these blokes were raising to an art level. Of course it probably didn't help that she had been sprinting down a marble hallway, a shirt, jacket and pants amongst togas and stolas.  
"Halt! In the name of the divine Antiochus!"  
Damn formal guards. Two of them on patrol. Can't they just wallop her and get it over with?  
She stood in the hallway, placing her hands on the back of her head. Shortly, she heard the sandals slapping on the floor, the smell of leather uniforms, the sight of proud noses and olive skin. The guards looked surprised once they saw her face, obviously confused as to why one of their own kind was fleeing arrest in strange clothes.  
"Why are you fleeing capture while wearing these strange clothes?"  
If she didn't have them plastered to her scalp, Javis' palm would have slapped her forehead.  
"Respond!"  
"My clothes were dirty," Javis lied quickly, "I had to wash them, and I couldn't exactly walk around naked, could I?"  
One of the guards began looking Javis up and down her muscular frame smiling with approval. The first guard elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and the second guard snapped to embarrassed attention.  
"You should know better, Miss," the guard coughed nervously, "one of the Kind here in the palace should not be in disapproving dress. I and Crassus will escort you to the courtesan's headquarters where you can find a proper change of clothes.  
Oh, that Doctor. He's turning me into a softie, thought Javis. Under normal circumstances someone calling her a courtesan would have lead to several broken bones before she could even think. But here she was, walking down the hallway flanked by soldiers of the New Roman Empire, both thinking she was a high-class…companion.  
In a few moments, Javis was starting to doubt herself. To say the gown was revealing was an understatement, and the attendants took great pains to remove her simple ponytail and replace it with an elegant up-do. Topping it all was a collection of jeweled rings and pendants, taken out of a veritable basin of the things. Don't suppose they'd let her keep a few of these things, she could live for a month… all because she looks like she should, amazing…  
"You're wanted in the kitchen," the attendants said, finishing her up and shooing her out of the door.  
Jarred out of her reverie, Javis followed three other courtesans down a labyrinth of hallways, emerging in a massive marble kitchen.  
My, they sure love their marble.  
"Come come, ladies," came a familiar voice. Javis turned around to see her previous two captors, Crassus and…what was the other's name?  
"Prepare supper for the Emperor, all of the usual…and lots of red meat, he is interrogating a terrorist, and you know how these situations require…blood."  
The courtesans began milling about the kitchen: chopping greens, braising shanks of meat, stirring sauces. Javis stood, frozen. She didn't know how to work this archaic cooking equipment.  
Wait a minute, she didn't know how to cook period!  
She had to think fast, or Captain Whathisname would have her thrown in the dungeon or something…wait!  
Over there!  
Perfect!  
In the throne room, the Doctor was undergoing a "hearing" that was one part interrogation, one part persecution, and one part frustration, for both parties involved. Antiochus, a young man of only fifteen, sat upon the throne, slouched in utter dismay. His toga wrinkled, his golden crown of olive leaves askew, Antiochus puzzled over the strange situation laid before him. This man, this strange man in strange blue clothing had been caught trespassing, breaking a fundamental law of the New Roman Empire, and should therefore be penalized with death.  
But this man did not fear death. In fact, he seemed overwhelmingly bored with the entire goings on. The guards would bellow at him, and he would merely offer them a sprig of peppermint he had pulled out of his jacket. The senators would threaten him with quartering, and he would only remark that it might help him lose some weight. Antiochus was both furious and curious with this man, and it was the latter curiosity that was sparing his life.  
"So," the Emperor began in regal tones, "if I am to believe you, you are a time traveler who landed in my corridor by accident."  
"Yes."  
"Because your inter-dimensional time transporting device…"  
"Time and Relative Dimension in Space, actually."  
Antiochus shot the Doctor a cold look, then continued. "Because your…ship is…old?"  
"Yes. I really can't believe we landed off course this time, I mean, I'd been to Old Rome before…"  
"Irrelevant!" Antiochus rose from his throne. He had had enough. "Completely irrelevant! Every response is editorial, each comment is cutting, don't you understand the gravity of the situation? Do you not understand, sir, that you are facing a penalty of death? We do not believe your story, you would be hard pressed to find one that would. The only other conclusion to be drawn is that you are a spy, a terrorist, and an evil threat to this Empire and its way of life, and therefore by my divine right and decree, you must die."  
"Like I've never heard that one before…" the Doctor rolled his eyes.  
Antiochus, now red with rage, rounded on the nearest soldier.  
"You! Give me your gun! I will kill the infidel myself!"  
He snatched it out of the soldier's hand and made to whirl back at the Doctor, barrel at the throat. However, the Doctor knew the precise moment to act, and the precise words to say to leave the pistol clattering on the ground.  
"What would your father say?"  
The room fell silent. Antiochus was quivering with a mixture of grief and silent rage.  
"What…did you say?" he seethed.  
"Your father would not approve, m'boy. Not at all. I knew the man, Lepidus was a great and benevolent ruler, he never would have let a ridiculous police state like this grow under his watchful eye."  
Antiochus stepped down from his raised dais to the Doctor's level. "Well that's convenient, isn't it? Because it was that benevolence that left his gates open to attack and his eventual poisoning! I did what I had to do out of respect for him, to honour his death and bring his murderers to justice!"  
"Your father died of an ancient strain of Malaria that his body had no defenses to! They found it in an old Tupperware container he dug up in the ruins of Venice! I was there, Antiochus, I may have looked a little different, but I was there and I diagnosed him!"  
"So that was you, that quack, calling himself a 'Doctor' when all he did was prescribe archaic, non-Roman medicine that killed my father!"  
"You denied him the treatment! You were convinced it was poisoning!"  
"And such a ridiculous scarf you wore back then!"  
"Oh? OH?! That is ENOUGH! YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER!"  
This time an audible gasp echoed around the room. Antiochus looked ready to rip the Doctor limb from limb, but the Doctor stood firm, unarmed in a room of soldiers, still unafraid of death.  
And that made him very, very angry.  
"It wasn't on purpose," the Doctor's voice was calm and seemed very out of place, "but in your fervor to preserve your father's legacy and empire, you inadvertently doomed him. I am sorry, but that's the way it is. However, young Antiochus, I must say I'm concerned with your…attitude. The history books have it all wrong, you're a right tyrant! No, no something is not right…"  
"Restrain him,"Antiochus commanded, returning to his throne and dais. The Doctor was bound to a chair as the emperor settled in comfortably.  
"Your constant blather leaves me feeling very drained, Doctor," Antiochus droned, his smug mood returning, "perhaps we shall have something to eat, before we decide on your proper death?"  
The Doctor sniggered under his breath. "Death? Hmph, that old thing, wonder when it will finally catch up to me…"  
Antiochus clapped his hands and a bevy of courtesans entered, bearing trays of delectables. Antiochus paraded each one in front of the Doctor's face, as if to tease him. It wasn't until the last tray, however, that things all started to change. The Doctor glanced at the tray as Antiochus chuckled.  
"Oh, my…what are those little things?"  
The Doctor looked to the tray, then to the courtesan, then to the Emperor as his face erupted in a smile of unending joy.  
"Cucumber Sandwiches."

It was all the work of moments. Javis was a dervish of fists, feet, knees, elbows, and the occasional headbutt. New Roman guards were flung in every direction, their pistols too clumsy, their hands too slow. The senators and the courtesans fled for the doorway, but found it blocked by two senseless guards, recently tossed by the wild New Earth warrior. As for Javis herself, she was a picture of savage beauty: her hair had come unkempt, her eyes shone with that familiar bloodlust, and yet she was still clad in a flowing white gown crowned with elegant jewels. As she stood In the middle of the room, chest heaving, fists clenched, only two men dared look upon the frightening visage:  
The Doctor, and the Great and Divine Antiochus, Emperor of the Roman Empire.  
One looked in relief, the other in a surprised adulation. It took a few moments to release the Doctor, and in that time Antiochus had made his way down from the dais to gaze upon Javis Nine.  
"My, my!" he marveled, "what an amazing woman you are! Strong, cunning…and so very beautiful…" He made to touch her face, but found himself in a very painful hammerlock.  
The Doctor discarded the ropes, casting a sidelong glance and offering a chastising "Don't be rude." Javis relented, releasing the Emperor. The Doctor smiled.  
"I wasn't talking to you, Javis," he added with a wink, "go see to the, erm, conscious, will you?"  
Antiochus in his weakened state was herded back to his throne by the Doctor, massaging his arm with a mixture of pain and pleasure.  
"Such a vision, such a treasure…she is exactly what I wish for New Rome!"  
"Sorry to burst you bubble, your Eminence," the Doctor began, "but she's not one of yours."  
The young Emperor scoffed. "Ridiculous! She has all of the correct features, plus a… few new ones…"  
His revelry was cut short by a hand slamming on the arm of his throne. A pair of ice-blue eyes shredded the clouds from his vision and brought him back to reality with a start, casting his gold crown onto the floor. Its intonations sounded hollow in the vast chamber as the two met, eye to eye, one sitting on his dais, the other standing on the floor below. Antiochus was frozen by the fierceness of his gaze, unable to move, to speak, barely able to breathe. The Doctor's eyes conveyed a great anger, a terrible frustration, and a strong undercurrent of duty. His voice never raised, there was no editorial nature to his speech, his words were short and true.  
"I knew your father, Antiochus. He was a good man. But he would kill himself if he could see what his land has become."  
Antiochus finally blinked and tried to turn away, but the Doctor's words held him fast.  
"His death was an accident, a trick of time, but something that cannot be changed. All that can be changed is here, and now, with you. Your world is no safer than your fathers, you have weakened yourself through fear. A nation built on fear cannot last, it is a house built on sand. You have sterilized your people, but you have weakened yourself against threat. Your nation is at the mercy of any sickness that could plague it, and all it takes is the smallest infection to kill it. Antiochus, Divine and Great, do not let your Father's work die as he did. You have the chance to survive."  
"Guard yourself against attack, but do not believe in it. Accept war and death as inevitabilities, or you will never cope with them. Allow a small sickness to ensure a lasting health. You have the ability, Antiochus, you are strong like your father. Make the difference, take the chance, and creating the glimmering example your father set out to secure."  
Antiochus' eyes were overflown with tears. He fell onto the Doctor's shoulder, sobbing for his lost father for the first time. The Doctor held his head silently, allowing a small weakness to refine an inner strength. As he did he looked up to the marble ceiling, his own eyes misty, but still smiling.  
"Emperor Antiochus. The Great and Divine." He brought the young man face to face with him again. "You are remembered for ages as a great man, a benevolent man, a man of change and of trust. You will never do more than your people ask of you, and in return they will build for you Utopia. There will be songs in your honor, and books, and rhymes and poems, but one in particular comes to mind:

If you can keep your head when all about you  
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,  
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,  
But make allowance for their doubting too;  
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,  
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,  
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,  
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;  
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;  
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster  
And treat those two impostors just the same;  
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken  
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,  
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,  
And stoop and build them up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings  
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,  
And lose, and start again at your beginnings  
And never breathe a word about your loss;  
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew  
To serve your turn long after they are gone,  
And so hold on when there is nothing in you  
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,  
' Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,  
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,  
If all men count with you, but none too much;  
If you can fill the unforgiving minute  
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,  
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,  
And – which is more – you'll be a Man, my son!

Antiochus looked up at the Doctor, sniffing away his tears.  
"That is beautiful. It reminds me…of my father. Who has written that?"  
"Rudyard Kipling," the Doctor responded with a smile, "although he got a few hints from me."  
"You have been everywhere, Time Lord, and seen everything," The Emperor said, sitting back onto his throne again, "how do you continue?"  
"It is my duty, it is my joy, it is my curse. I am the Sole Guardian now, I am to make things right. Things are still…imperfect."  
He picked up the gold crown of leaves, bowing his head reverently and handing them back to the Emperor. Placing them upon his head again, Antiochus raised the Doctor's eyes to his, a sign of great respect.  
"May you make right, Doctor. And may you also find time to make right with yourself."  
The Doctor gave a cold, callous laugh.  
"No thank you. The Universe is one thing, but I am quite another."  
"Indeed, Doctor…pulling the strings of the Universe, untangling all the puppets…yet who keeps yours untangled, Doctor? Who?"  
Any further discussion was ended by Javis clattering back into the throne room.  
"Doctor! I got them out, shoved the bodies out of the door and all, but then they went and called the guards! Saying you're defiling the Emperor's divinity or something stupid like that…"  
"You cried in front of your subjects…" the Doctor offered.  
Antiochus gave a grin, and then shrugged.  
"Well done," the Doctor grinned. His tone suddenly became much more rapid.  
"Emperor, thank you for your company. Remember what I said," he whirled round, "Javis, I think it's time…"  
"For us to fly? I agree, let's!"  
And the two bounded out of the throne room, leaving the teenaged Emperor to sit and mull in his lavish, if slightly ransacked throne room.  
"Blasted marble, all these corridors look the same!" The Doctor bemoaned.  
"Halt!"  
"Doctor, this way!"  
The two bolted down an adjoining hallway, which despairingly lead to a dead end.  
"This way, Javis?!"  
"Now is not the time, Doctor!"  
"We have you now, terrorists!"  
A full score of soldiers rounded the corner, cornering the two.  
"You are to come with us for further questioning on the matter of–what the hell?!"  
A sudden blizzard of parchment came from above obscuring the guards view. The open-air construction of the palace meant that winds traversing the corridors kept the parchment in transit long enough for the Doctor and Javis to make an escape. Looking back as they ran, Javis caught a glimpse of Credo's smiling face, dumping ream after ream of paper from above.  
After a few more twists and turns, the two finally found themselves back at the TARDIS and, with the turn of a key, they were inside and on their way. Watching the Doctor fiddle with various buttons and knobs, Javis couldn't help but ask.  
"What were you doing up there, Doctor? You were speaking so quietly we couldn't hear you in the back."  
"Nothing that didn't already have to be done, Javis." the Doctor hit one last final switch, and the TARDIS was on its way with that unquestionably unique motoring sound. Now safely out of danger, the Doctor looked into the distance, at something and nothing simultaneously.  
"Things change for them, Javis, for everyone. Antiochus ushers in a new age, and becomes one of the most beloved rulers of all human history. In time New Rome holds a peaceful dominion over the entire world, with that young boy at the helm. He lives his life by the poem "If," and adopts it as his new name. Emperor If Antiochus, the Benevolent Emperor of the shining world, the Second Great Human Empire, as it came to be called."  
He glanced at Javis, smiling. "Never married, though. Afraid you broke his heart, Javis."  
Javis snorted in derision in a very unladylike manner, "Hardly! Ugh, and re-direct me to those wardrobes, I can't move in this frock without causing a hurricane!"  
"Absolutely Javis. But first…your hair is a mess…" pulling out his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor flipped a switch and Javis' hair fell from a worried updo to simply down around her shoulders. Knowing what he had done, Javis sneered at him.  
"Just for that, I win the chess game."  
Back in New Rome, Credo the scribe was brought before the Emperor after the guards had sifted through the paper. Credo had not avoided capture, and he stood before him not unlike the Doctor had earlier in the day: completely without fear.  
"Kill me, imprison me, beat me I care not, your Eminence," Credo began, "my wife and daughter are already dead, thanks to your policies, and I no longer fear death nor the lash."  
Antiochus made as if to look serious, then erupted into healthy laughter, thoroughly confusing the guards.  
"Wonderful! Brilliant! Just the man I need, someone who is not afraid of a little danger! No, Credo…it was Credo, wasn't it? No, Credo, I will not imprison you, and I will not kill you. I may torture you, however, if you consider it torture to hold my company and a pen at the same time! I am appointing you my personal scribe, what do you think? Oh, who cares what you think, I'm the Emperor! I can do whatever I want! And I want you to be my right hand man, you and I will start a new chapter of New Rome, one you will write and I will read…but first, I want you to copy down a poem for me. Tell me, what do you know of a man named Kipling?"


End file.
